The night was full of kisses and laughter. Harry whispered his questions in his lover's ear, and most of them were met with amusement and riddles.

"Did you go to the cave last night, after you left me?"

"I never left you. Even when I went to the cave."

"How did you find the locket horcrux? Can you help me find another?"

"Another horcrux? Certainly, there is one right here-" And he kissed Harry so fiercely that Harry thought his heart would stop. And then a gentle whisper: "But I'm never giving this horcrux to Dumbledore, never..."

And then the stranger's kisses, gentle as a wind, soft as night itself, explored his body, and the silver voice whispered: "I want you to come in my mouth - "... Harry gave himself over to the wild, primordial, frantic desire that rose in him at the other's touch, surrendered himself to the fire of the stranger's kisses. He buried his hands in the stranger's messy hair as soft lips found the hardness of his fierce arousal. He tried to imagine what he must look like, his nightly friend... Were his curls, so soft against Harry's fingers, golden, or were they black, like... The recollection of a dark-haired boy began to emerge out of the night.

A name. A name rose in his awareness, a name that should have terrified him. The sudden intuition, the shock of recognition, should have chilled him to the bone. And yet...

And yet, sometimes the most vivid nightly terrors dissolve in the light of the day; the darkest nightmares are childish notions in the sun. Could it be that daytime terrors grow gentle in the night - ? For Harry felt no fear, only a strange sweetness where the dread should have been.

"Tom!" His voice was trembling, but not with fear; his heart was racing, but not with trepidation. "Tom!"

Harry heard sharp intake of breath, felt a touch that froze and then withdrew.

"Tom..." The name was a moan that sprang from Harry's lips; his hands reached out, found tousled curls, and pulled him gently back...

The name that had been whispered had created something new between them, a momentary shyness, a hesitant alterity. Harry could feel Tom holding his breath, as if he were waiting for a dawning revulsion to replace desire. But Harry's desire had not lessened, merely changed: It was no longer a flame in the darkness, but an all-consuming, incandescent fire...

Harry whispered the impossible name into the darkness and surrendered himself to Tom's caresses, hesitant caresses at first, but gradually more demanding, more possessive. Hands that stroked his shaft, hard and furiously, the wetness of his mouth, his flickering tongue... His climax was a blaze of fire, dispelling the last faltering shadow of alarm.

Afterwards, Harry found Tom's lips in the dark, caressed them gently with his own. But Tom did not respond; he merely breathed against Harry's lips: "Are you frightened now-?"

"No."

"How can you not be? Is this that famous Gryffindor courage I have heard about-?" His voice was shaking now.

Harry stroked his face gently, eliciting a trembling sigh. I have a power the Dark Lord knows not... Perhaps it is time for him to know it.

He put his arms around Tom, pressed him close to his own beating heart. "Tom? I want to see you now. I want to see your face..."

A silence, and then a kiss, lingering against his forehead. A soft voice whispered: "Only my face as it used to be..."

And the darkness lifted, replaced by a soft golden light, like of flickering candles. Tom's eyes were wide and dark as the met Harry's for the first time. Harry could see that he was nervous. Breathless, he reached out, stroked Tom's cheek. How lovely the color was, the blush that spread over his pale face...

"Can you stay like this forever?" he whispered. "Can you stay in this form, or must you change back?"

"I don't know..." Tom's voice was not quite steady. "I never thought I would wish to go back to being like this, but now I want it more than anything. I don't want to frighten you away..."

Harry flung his arms around Tom. The heart that beat so fiercely against his chest - was that the heart of Voldemort? Or of Tom Riddle? Perhaps it didn't matter. He held Tom close, whispered in his ear: "I told you I didn't care if you are a monster. You saved my life when no one else was there. I love you. Show me your face now... Your other face, your real one..."

"No!" There was a terrified note in Tom's voice. "I don't want to be him anymore. I want to go back. I will find a way; I will find some magic that will turn me back. I will stay in this form for ever, if only you will stay with me, Harry!"

"If you want me to stay with you, you must show me your face. No more illusions, no more darkness. Just you. Your true face."

"No!" A hand stroked Harry's hair, gently. "I have never loved anything or anyone before... I can't lose you now."

"You will not lose me. But you will have yo trust me..."

Tom gazed at him for a long time. And then, slowly, he began to change before Harry's eyes. The dark curls were gone, his skin grew deathly pale, the humanity vanished from his features, replaced by something serpentine...

Voldemort... Harry felt his breath catch in his chest, a flicker of forgotten fear.

But then he saw Voldemort's eyes. The Dark Lord's glance had never held a look as tender as this...

And Harry reached out, touched the pallid cheeks, and pressed his lips against the slit where the mouth should have been. For a moment, he lingered against Voldemort, and then he felt a change come over him again: there were soft lips under his own, a touch of warmth...

Tom tore himself away. He merely sat silently on the bed for a few minutes, his legs pulled up to his chin and his arms wrapped around them. He looked, all of a sudden, like a schoolboy, impossibly young and vulnerable. He did not look up until Harry spoke his name softly.

Then he glanced up, and he whispered: "You didn't even close your eyes... You kissed me, when I was like that, and you didn't close your eyes..."

Harry put his arms gently around him, pulled him down on the bed next to him. They lay silently, touching, breathing together.

"What do we do now?" Tom sounded puzzled.

"Well, I'm supposed to find some horcruxes..."

A mischievous grin spread over Tom's face. "We just became lovers, and you are already asking for my soul? Oh, very well, you can have it, I suppose. As long as I get to keep you... I'd rather hand you the horcruxes myself than have your crazed headmaster send you off on more dangerous quests. What will you do with them?"

"I have no idea."

"Sounds like a plan, then."

"What about the - Death Eaters?"

"Oh." Tom frowned. "You don't want me to see my friends anymore?"

Harry laughed. "They are your worshippers, not your friends."

"True. They were getting a little tiresome. You don't worship me, even a little, yourself then?"

Harry smiled. "Perhaps a little bit."

"Good. You don't think I should keep Draco, even? I could make him kill Dumbledore for you, you know."

Harry considered, but only briefly. "No thanks. I think I'd better deal with Dumbledore myself. Oh..." A sudden thought struck him: "Did you happen to steal a snitch from Dumbledore's office?"

Tom looked genuinely surprised. "A snitch? No, I'm not really into Quidditch all that much. Although I do appreciate the muscle tone it has given you..."

Harry laughed and brushed Tom's hand away. "Seriously, someone stole a snitch from Dumbeldore's office. He was furious about it, and at first he suspected me. There is something hidden inside it, apparently. Something that can raise the dead: a resurrection stone..."

"Oh." Tom yawned. "I don't go in for resurrecting the dead much. I generally prefer to avoid death altogether." He was warm and sleepy in Harry's arms, and soon his eyes began to close. But Harry lay awake for a long time, listening to his lover's soft breathing in the dark. He reached out and caressed Tom's beautiful face, but lightly, so as not to wake him.

...

Tom was gone by morning, and Harry smiled when he read the note pinned to his pillow: "Gone to pick up a few horcruxes, back this evening. Love, T."

No one else was up yet. The other boys were all sleeping peacefully, but Ron's bed was neatly made and appeared not to have been slept in. Harry assumed that he had gone somewhere to meet Remus - the Shrieking Shack again, perhaps.

Harry couldn't go back to sleep, so he got dressed and decided to go for an early morning walk. But as he passed the portrait of the Fat Lady, he noticed someone in the hallway, a dark figure huddled against the wall.

"Draco?" Why would Draco Malfoy be waiting outside the entrance to Gryffindor?

Draco looked up, and his face was pale as death.

"Draco? What has happened to you?" Harry sat down on the cold stone floor next to the Slytherin boy. What was wrong with him? He looked like he had seen death itself. With a start, Harry recalled what Tom had said about Draco a few hours earlier. Had Draco just committed murder?

Harry put a hand gently on the boy's arm. "Draco? Did you kill Dumbledore?"

Draco's face was not white any more; it seemed grey against the flaxen of his hair. "Did I kill - Harry, how did you know about...?"

"Did you?"

But Draco shook his head. "No. I didn't do it - yet. But how could you know? You?"

Harry felt a stab of pity for the terrified boy. "Perhaps it won't be necessary. The Dark Lord may have changed his mind."

A little gasp from Draco, followed by a shaky laugh. "How do you know these things? Are you a bloody death eater now? Harry Potter, the death eater. That would be something..."

"No, not a death eater." Harry grasped the other boy's arm and yanked up the sleeves of his robes before Draco could protest. He looked at the smooth, unmarked skin on Draco's pale arm. No, no dark mark. "Neither are you, apparently."

"What-?" Draco stared down at his arm as if he could not believe his own eyes. "This can't be possible..."

He looked at Harry with terrified eyes. "What kinds of powers are you messing with, Potter? First necromancy, and now you vanish my Dark Mark..."

"Necromancy?"

Draco's voice was shaking: "Don't think I don't know, Potter. I saw him just now, right here in the hallway. I was waiting here to speak to... Oh, never mind. I wanted to have a word with one of the Gryffindor students."

Harry nodded gently, recalling how Draco had looked at Hermione. Poor Draco! Harry almost felt bad for him.

Draco went on in a whisper: "And then... then I saw him. At first I thought he was a ghost, like the Bloody Baron or that mopey girl in the bathroom, but he wasn't. He was real, substantial, and yet there was something about him that wasn't quite alive..."

Harry looked at him in wonder. "Draco, who on earth are you talking about?"

Draco swallowed. "Your godfather of course. The murderer from Azkaban. I saw Sirius Black!"